Reflections on Golf

Near Miss at Clear Creek

My longtime friend and golf protege Will, ALMOST had his first hole-in-one.  I know about it from Facebook.  Here’s the picture showing his ball close to the pin.  It does not look Photoshopped, but I can’t swear.  Then again, nobody lies on Facebook. Also, the guy is so morally solid that I don’t doubt him for one second – (see below).  You “guys” (screw you #atheismplus)  know how cynical I can be, and I totally vouch for Will.

Under the present circumstances, this bit of information is something I regarded with a bit more cheer than, for example, the ever present danger that the next chunk of meteor will be directed at an aging (if ageless) expatriate. Perhaps even one as fabulous as a former carpet-bagging atheist liberal Yankee reprobate.  You never know.

I took the time to congratulate Will for his near miss, and added some additional historical perspective to the mix I thought I share share with everyone.

To wit: Will posts: I almost had my first hole in one! — at Clear Creek Golf Course.

My response:

I almost had my first hole in one at Sonny Guy on that par three seventh hole. I think you were there. It was one of my patented wheezer straight shots. A low burner that ran up on the green and hit the pin causing the group ahead of us to give me a big cheer. Tap in. And congratulations for FINALLY getting YOUR first wheezer tappy do bull.. tap in.

And while we’re recollecting brilliant moments from the past… Let me add the story of when we played at “your” course up in Madison. I might be off on the course, and if so, you will help fill in the gaps of my feeble and calcifying brain.

We were on a par three shooting to the right over water and about to tee off. You looked back and saw that guy who was the executive at the casino. The one whose $50,000 dollar watch you found and returned to him. Not the kind of thing you would forget. Anyway, I digress.

You considered yourself a better golfer than me. On many days that may actually have been the case. All too often, on the days that we did actually play together, I came out on top of you for one reason or another. The “fixin’ to come unglued” syndrome had an ugly way of affecting both you and Oscar when you played against me.  But I digress.

You were concerned that I might hit one of my wanky danky ding dong shots in front of this guy who you were trying to impress with your golf game (in the same extent as you did with your integrity, by the return of his fancy ass wa$$tch.)

You didn’t really want to be seen with my wanky danky ding dong ass at THAT moment. However, as is often the case when under duress, the military veteran in me comes out, and all too often, on short par threes.

I could see your knees tremble and your street creed crumbling before you as I reached into my bag for my driver. For those new to my game, I am uncannily deadly with that beeyatch. It also happens to correspond almost perfectly with my weenie ass old man 140 yard wanky dank ding dong drives (and I’m being kind to myself here).

At the end of the day, I remember you trashing it either in the drink, or well off the green. I tappy dooed my driver straight and weak, right at the pin, landing ten feet behind the pin, on the fringe by that back stop wall. You know what I’m talking about here bro’. Your spectator buds were well entertained. A good time was had by all.

There was a theory going around back in the day, that I had the ability to affect your game play in little psychological ways. Totally ignoring the decorum of the game, cheating like a drunken pirate, lighting cigarettes on your backwing, playing out of turn, that silly grin of mine, you know….small things.

You should be able to play in a stadium situation with dancing girls and carnival clowns surrounding you, and not even notice. You can thank me here and now beeyatch!!


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